Macrobiotics and Marathons - Law's collections 10
by Harmonica Smile
Summary: One shot one: Macrobiotics: Scalpel, nodachi, khanjar. Classroom chaos. / One shot two: Seastone, shoelaces, glitter - Marathon Madness. Not an overt relationship. Established relationship. Marco/Law Crackfic.
1. Macrobiotics

**That one time they tried the macrobiotic cooking class**

* * *

Franky heard macro-bionics, maybe even microbionics; it was the only reason he was there picking at rabbit food, no disrespect to Carrot, though she also liked a good frog. At least Law and Marco had some cola for him. Couldn't complain about that.

"Law sliced up everyone with his nodachi, of course." Marco, all debonair urban island pirate, leant across the table on their outside balcony, the sea glistening darkly in the distance, and filled nearly everyone's glass with either red or white. Zoro had a tankard of ale in front of him, and Luffy something soft.

"You mean everything," Robin murmured.

Law looked down at his midnight blue nails. They couldn't be seen so well in the dusk and against the darker wood.

Marco shook his head. "Everyone." Law shot a quick grin at Robin before getting caught up in the whirlpool swirls of his knuckles again. He lifted his glass to his lips. Devil.

"Can't take him anywhere."

"They're so particular. Blackleg would back me up." Though they were just practicing their craft, but so was he.

Luffy still got a shiver at the growl of Law's voice. Zoro raised his eyebrows. What was this about ero-cook? Sanji was in his restaurant tonight.

"Sanji's very particular about his cooking." Brook supped a shot of whiskey. They'd broken the seal for him. A gift from Sengoku.

Law looked up at him, deftly took one of the cut up, brown rice, maki-zushi between his chopsticks, and shoved it whole in his mouth.

"Dsnmmph't like to wste foom."

Robin sent one of her extra hands to cover his mouth. He kept chewing, blinking at her, a dangerous glint in her eyes. Another of her hands spiked his hair, pulled at his earrings.

"Spit it into her palm!" Luffy urged, gripping the edge of the table. She sent a hand to cover his mouth as well, tugging his hair much more strongly than she was Law's. If he so much as thought of spitting . . . Franky knew how that grip felt.

She returned to the Heart captain. "Don't talk with your mouth full, Law. Where'd you pick up your manners?"

She released her hold on both men once Law had chewed and swallowed.

"Same place as you, I imagine."

She'd been without shelter for a far longer period than he had, but they had plenty of scavenging experience between them.

"Just because you've been thrown to the gutter, Law . . ."

"Crawled from the gutter." Maybe only Marco could say it. "Oscar Wilde variety." He looked out to the stars. That's right, baby, thought Marco, keep those jewels in sight.

Law glanced between Robin and Marco, Luffy scoffing down another of the many hamburgers Zoro had brought with him to placate the pirate king's hunger. He secured another segment of maki-zushi.

"Well, macrobiotics is all about simplicity, right?"

He was a little surprised that Zoro was the only one eagerly joining him. He knew his tastes weren't for everyone, but from running the bar and catering to the crew, he had a pretty good idea of how to serve a variety of food for the common good. It wasn't like the invitation had stated macro-bionics.

Franky seemed miserable, pushing a river snail around his plate. Maybe he was thinking of his transponder cousins. Did molluscs fall into the allowed seafood side of things?

The idea was that you used in-season, natural ingredients, complementing one another, no dairy or animal products, apart from some fish here and there. Should be the height of simplicity, right?

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"Mr Trafalgar, Mr Phoenix, please join us at the introductory table."

It was a small village and the residents were thankful for Law's practice, and the seaside shack that catered to fishermen, hippies and seafarers alike. Anyone who was taking the course probably knew them. Even so, there were a few blow-ins. Plus they worked strange hours. Paths didn't always cross.

Law and Marco's house was in one of the better areas of town, or in an area known for its semi-artistic dwellings. They knew some of their neighbours, but many kept to themselves — only wanting Law's inked hands in their sights if they needed some stitching, or he was well on the other side of the road. Unlike the inhabitants of the area where his clinic was based, who greeted him warmly, usually — he waived fees or bartered if they couldn't afford his services.

In their district, the only interaction with Marco's laidback but cutting wit, with the strange band of brothers and sisters the pirates gathered around them at the many events held at that isolated house way up on the hill, was in idle words shared over backyard fences — Law and Marco's fences excluded. What was with that bear, for one? Though the raccoon dog that visited was beyond cute.

Those who did pop in found a welcoming yard, lazy and steeped in trees of shade and long afternoons, a beer offered, and the dogs usually friendly after the first yip or two. There had been locals — knowing Law's clinics, knowing the bar was open to all, and judged none — who had sought refuge and found a quiet reassurance in the doctor's skilful touch as he treated any physical wounds, allowed mental distress room to run free, and provided shelter when it was needed, advice whether asked for or not. A partner with fists a little too eager to connect with the flesh of their spouse might find Marco or Law relaxing in the lounge room, legs casually slung across knee, awaiting their return. They never explained how they gained entry.

The cooking class was held in a community centre. At this time of night, most rooms were empty, and the light spilled from one classroom into the corridor. Law and Marco had slid open the door and entered the room. The other students were gathered at a table near the front, situated before the teaching station.

A smaller man, about Shanks' age, sat on the far side of the table. A cloth beanie, despite the humid weather, covered his head. A younger woman sat near him, her hair tied up in a bun. She scratched at her skin. A kid about the same age Luffy was when Law first met him slouched in the far end chair, and a woman outfitted in a business suit chewed gum at one of the heads of the table.

The instructor walked over as the two pirates crossed the floor. Law wore a black short sleeved shirt. He'd embroidered smaller Cavendish roses along the button panelling and on the pocket, all dark and tortured cowboy. The Phoenix knew his Heart design or Jolly Roger was somewhere on the top. He wore the loose black linens that fit island living, and flip-flops that showed he'd been too busy before leaving the house to grab anything more suitable.

Law had tried talking Marco into wearing a shirt under his jacket. Who knew what the chef would think about him prepping food bare-chested. To no avail. Law really didn't mind, enjoyed brushing a hand past tight Phoenix muscles as he'd reached to close the door behind them earlier that night.

The only seats available were on opposite sides of the table, next to the man with the beanie and the woman who had an itch. As Law approached, the man's shoulders hunched slightly. The Heart barely noticed.

"Mr Trafalgar?"

Law looked at the instructor, pushing a bit of hair from his forehead.

"May we ask you to put your knife in the corner?"

Bewildered, Law turned to Marco, and Marco gestured parrying and thrusting. "Kikoku, Law."

Law's head tipped back in understanding and he used his fruit to rest her against the wall. Not too far from him. He'd swapped the sword out with an adaptor. Unfortunately, the businesswomen's phone was attached to it.

"Really!" she snapped, and snatched it from the table. Law sat down his elbows resting on the surface, clasped hands black, forearms black, feet black, the tattoo peeking under his shirt black, most of his hair black.

"Sorry." It had been a busy day in the clinic and Law ran a hand over his face. "I wasn't thinking. I'll plug it back in." He extended a hand over the table, and Marco noted the subtle recoil of all members. The holding of breath.

The woman checked the phone. Almost fully charged. "Don't bother." She spat the gum she was chewing into a tissue, wadded it, and placed it in her bag. The adaptor followed, and she left the phone on the table.

Whatever. Law returned his gaze to the Phoenix, not yet sat.

"And Mr Phoenix, your bang-bang."

It was Marco's turn for confusion. Law gestured firing a gun with his fingers, and again failed to notice how everyone drew away from him. They'd just taken it from some fool in the bar the night before. It wasn't Marco's weapon of choice.

Ah, the blond nodded. He walked to the opposite side of the room from where Law's nodachi rested, and, safety on, put both his bag and gun against the wall. Law, always so showy with his powers. It was only a twenty-second effort to walk. They kept the weapons separated so they had the chance to gain access to at least one form of defence if either one of them was incapacitated.

He sat in between the scratchy lady and the teen. The teen sat up as Marco sat down, the pirate straight-backed, but somehow at ease, taking up all the space without intruding into his own.

"I made him put on deodorant." Law's chin still rested on clasped hands, and he turned his head slightly like a curious owl. The teen tidied himself up further. "He doesn't stink."

Marco sniffed his underarms, first one, then the other, and nodded in agreement. He stretched both arms behind him and put them on the back of the seat.

"Law's clean too." He reassured the beanie guy next to him. Law turned his head that way now. "He's a doctor. Always scrubbing up or down, sterilising away."

Law tilted his head in agreement.

"It's kind of amazing these tatts haven't lifted, huh?" He splayed a hand on the table.

Cutting in before Marco could launch into some other piece of domestic mundanity, the teacher sat at the head of the table and opened a folder.

"As we all know, a holistic lifestyle equals a healthy and holistic body, and we all have reasons for seeking out the path of the organic."

Law observed the Akainu-like gleam.

"Many of us have fallen off that path." She stared at Marco, who seemed to be having a conversation with the birds flitting outside the window.

Flattery would get her nowhere, Law thought. The teen looked as if he wouldn't mind being one of those who'd veered from the path, though he didn't know who was more fierce — the pirates, or the teacher.

"We all have our stories to tell, so share." Or fear the consequences. "You, begin. Name. Reason." She pointed at the man with the beanie.

He coughed, blinking a little nervously. "I'm Kohki, and I have stage two cancer of the pancreas, and macrobiotics was recommended to me as a healthy way to balance my body, and to try and aid my blood cells." Law, out of everyone, excluding the teacher, probably understood more than most. His gaze didn't leave Kohki's form until—

"You." The teacher pointed at the scratchy woman.

"Sharlene. Terrible stress. Terrible, terrible, terrible stress." Skin flaked to the table as she scratched. Her arm was a red mess. Law could recommend some ointments, but she'd probably tried them all. Chopper was good with rashes. Maybe he'd suggest the little reindeer. "My naturopath said a change in diet might help counter this stress and psoriasis."

"Thank you, Sharlene. Mr Trafalgar, could you lift your elbows from the table and sit up please?" A little respect. Really.

Law sat up, a bit surprised, but did as he was asked. The teacher ran a finger along the collar of her blouse. She might have tied the bow too tightly.

Dr Trafalgar to you, thought Marco. Not defining her as a bitch yet.

"You."

She pointed at the teen, curve-backed even while sitting straight.

"Mum said it's good for concentration. Exams soon."

The teacher, Law and Marco all nodded decisively. Law had always found diet affected concentration, particularly a lack of coffee.

"Name?"

"Tariq."

"Your mother is correct, Tariq."

The teacher had an almost smile for the woman at the end of the table opposite her.

"Patricia. I run a health and diet business. I've only heard good things about macrobiotics."

"You've heard correctly."

Law and Marco readied themselves to speak. Law had researched the movement, as he did with nearly everything. The seasonal aspects, the herbs and vegetables he could use and utilize from their own garden, interested him. As a practitioner, he was also interested in the ways diet could affect health. If it could slow down or reverse the march of cancer, if it would help relieve stress and help Tariq concentrate on exams.

"Right, then." The instructor snapped the binder shut. "Let's get on with it. To your stations."

Both Law and Marco looked sharply at her. "I'm Aimi, and Mr Trafalgar, Mr Phoenix, we're just pushed for time. Sorry." A pinched smile graced her face.

The two exchanged glances and relaxed. It was a legitimate reason. Law flicked the earrings on one ear with his thumb.

Aimi breathed out, relieved, busy, tense. She didn't want to hear what rambling, misplaced concept the two had of the philosophy so lovingly brought into the consciousness of the enlightened, or those willing to be enlightened, by rare beings who knew far more about it than her.

Probably some of their best illicit customers had mentioned how superior homegrown was, or some other twaddle. She didn't want to so much as brush against a frayed cotton thread of the underworld.

Marco was there to offer alternatives on their dining menu at the bar. They had their fair share of truth seekers among the customers.

 **oOOo**

"Tariq, you're paired with me. I promised your mother." The boy was crestfallen, shooting quick glances at Mr Trafalgar's ink, and his chipped nail polish. He was a doctor?

"Patricia, you're used to menu preparation, so solo is fine. Kohki work with Sharlene." Sharlene was relieved not to be placed with either of the village's pirates. That would have been more stress than the stress she already could not handle.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, Nana," Marco murmured over the table.

"Charlie."

Tariq filed their names away.

Aimi pointed out their stations, the food preparation areas and ranges around the room, Law and Marco's the furthest from the front.

"Got your glasses?" Law whispered, once standing behind the counter, running a hand on the side of his neck and cricking it.

"You think I _do_ smell? Maybe I should have worn a shirt."

"Ya think?" Law leant into him and gave a huge sniff, Marco patting his hair.

"Mr Trafalgar, hygiene, please!"

Law rolled his eyes. Aimi knew that smirk held no kindness and it was directed her way.

All the ingredients were laid out at the stations, and in front of Aimi. She picked up a very sharp knife. Law's glasses were only for reading, so he could see her fine. They'd shoot Marco into the sky for observation of fiddly work if they had trouble. Aimi flourished that blade with skill. Law pursed his mouth in approval.

"The way of the food is as important as the food. Make an incision here, and here only." She had a strip of nori, a bunch of vegetables, and bowl of rice grains. Some condiments were also on hand.

All members turned her way and followed her instruction. Aimi supervised Tariq, offering encouragement.

Law and Marco looked down.

"Sensei?" Law's voice was clear, as low as it was. "We don't have any implements."

Marco noted the teacher's cheek twitch, even though her head was down. She took her sweet time overseeing Tariq, and spoke without peering up. "I'll get them to you shortly." She flicked a hand their way.

Dismissive cow.

As if she'd give pirate's knives.

Law caught Marco's eye. "She's testing my patience." He didn't bother to keep his voice low, but everyone was so busy slicing their nori just the right way, and picking out the exact number of grains of rice, that they didn't really hear him.

Law slipped a hand in an inside pocket and pulled out one of his sharpest scalpels. The one he used to scare people. Marco slipped a hand inside his jacket and pulled out a jewelled khanjar. Law's grin definitely had a whole lot of fuck you in it. Marco unsheathed the blade, and returned the wide smile.

They set to work on the seaweed. The screaming began soon after.

 **oOOo**

Charlie and Nana were so cool. Tariq stared at them, not following Aimi's instruction beside him.

Nana was somehow levitating the vinegared rice, rolled up in a nori sheet, into the air — he was maintaining this small blue dome thing — and slicing the roll with a scalpel, so they fell easily and neatly on the plate in front of them. Perfectly regulated, and just the right size for finger food. None of the fillings — the bamboo, the carrot, the cucumber, fell out.

Charlie, the blond one, he was flambéing things that suited a bit of a crust, and damn were they enjoying themselves. Charlie had a dagger plunged into the cabbage and was breaking it open. Nana was curling radishes into flowers, and the two were quiet, but laughing up a very sly storm, eyes only for each other and their own production.

Were they lovers? He noticed hands brushing, a comfortable proximity.

And that's when the screaming started. Aimi pressed the alarm hidden under the front station as well. High alert, high priority.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Marco leant back at the table, and Franky had to admit dinner had got a whole lot tastier spiced with a tale of adventure like this. He even managed to crunch down that snail without noticing. Nami told him that you didn't eat the shell.

"That's _not_ how you cut the nori! That's _not_ the way to treat cabbage! Who gave _you_ permission to garnish the radishes? Do you know how _out of step_ you are with the whole philosophy?" Marco's voice was breathy as he recounted the teacher's words.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Law and Marco paused.

"You could set fire to the whole place with those flames."

They didn't bother setting her right, and it wasn't as if Law hadn't levelled the same words against Marco on occasion.

"A scalpel? A dagger?" She almost haemorrhaged seeing the khanjar sticking up from the vegetable. " _Where_ is your respect?" Her nails lifted on and off her forearm. She tapped a foot. That was a pretty beautiful blade, Marco thought. Surely that counted for something.

Patricia spoke up. Her effort was laid out neatly in front of her and looked delicious, but nowhere near as much fun as Mr Trafalgar's and Mr Phoenix's. If Tariq's mother wanted him to learn some healthy eating habits, she should hire the two as role models. "To be fair, you didn't provide them with any knives."

Law was a little sheepish, but Marco also recognised the prickle of resentment that appeared as a red line above his partner's ear. He moved the khanjar back and forth in the cabbage splitting it in two.

" _Respec_ t!" She spat at the noise Marco made, and the action. "Why would I even think of giving pirates knives?"

"Did they pay for the course?" Tariq asked.

Brave Kid, thought Law. He hadn't spoken up against this harridan yet.

"Beside the point." Aimi didn't pay further attention to the teen.

"Not really. You took their money, right?" That was Kohki, pushing back on the beanie. His preparation efforts were a bit jumbled, the nori not quite joined, the rice a little loose. Law lit a small room, and used it to make the maki-zushi closer to something he could be proud of. It was all edible, for fuck's sake.

"Unacceptable!" The sensei roared, storming over to where Law had fashioned some carrots to resemble Bepo's face and ears. She raised an arm to sweep them and the plate off the counter.

"Room."

No-one touched Bepo.

"Shambles."

Except for him perhaps. He swapped out a bear face shape for Kikoku, and unsheathed her the minute she fell into his hands. He couldn't stop Aimi from screeching on, even after he'd dissected her. He could reassemble her like a Picasso portrait though, so he did that for a while, and then spread her around the room, when she wouldn't shut up, as he had Vergo so many years ago. It was gratifying to cut her to strips while she tried to tear strips off him.

With Aimi nothing but a chainsaw buzz, he and Marco made the rounds of the other stations.

"Law." The Heart extended a hand.

"Marco." The Phoenix lit up a little fire and waved.

"Dr. Trafalgar, my wife says I should visit you."

Law nodded Kohki's way. "Doesn't hurt to get a second opinion."

"Shall we eat?" Sharlene suggested.

"Sure," Marco said. "Nana?"

Law understood, and used takt to assemble all the trays on the table where they'd first sat. He pulled a bottle of wine he'd picked up after work, and had forgotten to offload at home, out of his bag.

"That's _not_ the way to eat. One _must_ eat with respect. Not with pirates. One _must_ follow _rightful_ procedure."

"You like this shit Mr Nana?" Tariq asked, everyone blocked Aimi out. Law side-eyed Marco.

"Law, kid. The name's Law, and yeah, I do."

"Charlie?"

"No mister?"

"Mister Charlie?"

"Marco, Tariq, the name's Marco."

"Just ignore Charlie," Law said. "Yeah. We eat pretty healthily."

"Do you always cook like that? Flying scalpels, stabbing daggers, projectiles of fire...?"

"Disrespected cabbages," Aimi yelled out, trying to get her body parts together, reordered.

"We don't always disrespect the cabbage," Marco said to Tariq. The quiet curve of Law's lips barely contained his amusement.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

They even made Nami laugh. Zoro kept feeding Luffy the hamburgers. He'd ordered ahead so the shop had enough stock to supply its regular customers as well. It was necessary to bring them, otherwise the pirate king went for the dog's food.

"Then this one got arrested," Marco said, jerking a thumb Law's way.

"Smoker." Law ran a hand back over his hair.

"You put yourself in harm's way?" Robin's knowing smile.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

The SOS was the code for pirates and since the dawning of the Luffy era, the working relationships between officers of the law and pirates named Law were usually pretty good, especially in that area.

Smoker listened in to the frequency. Suspects, late thirties, flashy clothes, unusual tattoos on hands, arms, bridges of feet, gold earrings. Bejewelled weapons. A giant bird flapping about like an enflamed whirling dervish. What had Trafalgar got himself into now?

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"That jutte." Law shuddered, and trailed a hand up his glorious neck. That was about where Smoker's weapon had pinned him.

Franky and Zoro watched, amused, as about half the crew and various nakama had some kind of reaction, as if they were eating pickled plums. Not that there was anything wrong with pickled plums, unless you were Law.

"Did it get you?" Robin asked Marco. He seemed a lot calmer.

"I wasn't the one who decided to slice Smoker's crew into pieces."

Luffy whooped.

"It was Kikoku." Law took in their view, hands clasped, and spoke as if they were deciding who would do the dishes. Then again, that could be a heated topic. "Tashigi was crooning some bullshit invocation to draw her near."

"It worked?" Zoro.

"Damn right."

"You didn't bisect her again, did you Law?" the Strawhat swordsman asked.

"Might have done."

Zoro grinned.

"Why were an admiral and a vice-admiral called out for a cooking class?" Brook asked.

"Law holds a certain allure," Marco said. Law had one arm rested on the table, propping up his chin, and the other flat on the table. Marco rested a hand over it.

"Bit of overkill," Law said, sitting up, rolling his shoulders, and feeling the chains.

"This one decided it was time to visit with Smoker again." Marco jutted a thumb to the left again.

"They shouldn't have come at me with chains."

"You didn't have to cut Tashigi in two."

"You'd think a vice admiral would be able to withstand that by now."

"Anyway," Marco continued, but returned his hand to Law's. "They get him super-chained up . . ."

"And they put me next to that yabbering mish-mash . . ."

"And we sit down. . ."

"And they eat the fucking meal I prepared..."

"Transported. You didn't prepare all of it. The radish florets were a hit," Marco nodded, replete with macrobiotic goodness.

Law laughed, lowering his head. It really was unfair that he didn't get to join them.

"This one," Marco squeezed his hand again, "He's just spitting chips in the corner with that harpy who hasn't shut up about Law defiling the ethos of organic eating."

"Monet was there?"

"Different harpy, Luffy."

"The marines were in no rush to reassemble the teacher," Law said.

"He's making so much noise, I let the marines take him."

"Did he get fed?"

"Tariq took a liking to him, and gave him a taste of the vegetable sushi."

"Why not you?"

"Head to toe in freaking seastone."

Again, Zoro watched the collective shudder.

Law glanced down from the table at a movement. Chopper was near his side. "The marines took you, Law?"

Law ran a hand along that weird bald head of his. "It was Smoker."

"We've got Luffy on fast dial now," Marco said.

Nami pushed her empty glass across the table, and Robin filled it.

"No way I can kick Smokey's arse. We're friends now!" Luffy declared.

"Not even for Law?" Nami asked, taking the glass from the archaeologist, and sipping.

"Nah, Law's strong." And Smoker wouldn't hurt him.

 **oOOo**

Law rested his head on his hand again, looking around the table. Marco ruffled his hair. His other hand still pet Chopper.

"So I get a call at about three am to come and pick up our errant doctor. He's been sitting in the admiral's quarters drinking everyone under the table."

Law's flash of teeth was infectious, and Franky snorted cola. Law had used his powers, once they let him out of the seastone, to replace the drink they put in front of him with water from the cooler outside the office. There _were_ a few marines he'd get drunk with, had _got_ drunk with, but not a building of them. There'd be a few very intoxicated workers during office hours the next day if that cooler was their primary source of hydration.

"Kikoku freaked Tashigi out. They would have let me go, I think, eventually. But it's the main reason they wanted me out of there at that time of the morning."

Zoro squinted Law's way, curious.

"The vice-admiral always thinks it's _my_ bloodlust that governs her rather than the other way around."

Zoro, the only one who really understood what Law was going on about, implying, nodded.

"Tashigi might have crossed to the dark side if Kikoku had stayed much longer in her company."

Law put a hand around his demon blade, quivering in malevolence even now. "Smoker liked our macrobiotic spread, though, Tashigi too, once she was reassembled."

"So, you've got a thing for being chained up by Smoker, not just Robin?" Franky.

"That's their perversion, not mine."

Chopper made Law sit up and jumped up on his lap. He always had the most soothing way of working through his fur. "How about Aimi? What happened to her?"

"Arrested her for disrupting the peace."

"Arrested both of you for that," Marco added, picking up one of the sushi rolls with his fingers.

"Some gallant knight you were."

Marco sniggered.

"Put us in the same cell. Worked out though. I said I'd reassemble her if she told me all there was to know about technique, philosophy and preparation of macrobiotics. I couldn't do anything for her until they got me out of seastone. Smoker got called away on some ruckus at our bar if I heard correctly."

The Strawhats all turned to Marco.

"Patricia's quite the wild child once she's had a few, and Nami dropped in."

"Wait. You left Law chained up and under arrest, and you all went out drinking?" Luffy asked.

"He was so noisy."

"Ah, fair call." The rest of the table nodded. Nami had enjoyed herself. Law rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, Aimi's knowledgeable. Everything tonight was the result of what she spat at me." Gaining that information compromised a whole lot more of Aim's scruples than it had Law's.

"And everything from our cooking class was the result of what she withheld from us."

.

"Which one's more delicious, Marco?" Robin asked, serving herself a bowl of salad.

"Gotta admit there's something quite thrilling to eating a cabbage that's been stabbed through the heart with a dagger."

"Oh, we used the same preparation methods. They were somewhat . . ."

"Avant garde?"

"Pushing the envelope?"

"Lit the fuse in fusion," Law said.

The two shared a quick glance. And it was almost gone. All the food on the table, the wine, Luffy's supply of hamburgers. All gone.

Maybe these microbionics did have something going for them after all, Franky thought, picking snail shell from the back of his teeth.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Throughout this series, Marco calls Law _Nana_ due to his old-lady collecting habits, and Law calls Marco, _Charlie_ as reference to Charlie Parker/Bird. Cheesy, but, whatever. Also, I so rarely have Law smirk, as the adjective is definitely overused in fan-fiction, but I thought it was fitting this time. Hope it didn't turn anyone off.

No disrespect to macrobiotics practitioners anywhere!

 **Thank you all for reading**. I hope you enjoyed it.

This is set post-canon. Luffy is the pirate king. In this post-canon world, both Smoker and Tashigi are promoted.


	2. Marathon

**Marathon**

* * *

Chopper's job was to make sure they didn't notice ties being bound. In fact, it had been hard enough getting them to wear runners in the first place. Law was _proud_ of those tattoos on the bridges of his feet, not to mention Shachi (or Robin's) dab hand at nail polish, or even the surgeon's own endeavours.

Law liked his gnarly toe hairs, and island living just didn't lend itself to socks and sneakers. Luckily all the guys wanted to out-machismo one another, so some bullshit ten-kilometre island race was cooked up. As was breakfast. They'd called Sanji in for that.

Law complained about running on a full stomach, but one Sanji glare (he'd especially prepared onigiri) let the captain know he wouldn't be running at all if he didn't eat.

He tugged at the material on the split-leg running shorts as he sat down. Marco smiled at his self-consciousness. That's what he got for leaving purchases up to his crew. Though Bepo this time, not Law, had ironed a stencil of the Hearts' Jolly Roger onto either arse cheek of the material. Of course Marco was going to leave Law for dust, but if he didn't, he had no objection to trailing that tush.

Marco, on the other hand, was capable of getting his own clothes, so his shorts were just above the knee, baggy, but not overly so. Light enough for movement, and roomy enough for air. No stencils, but in the past he had considered asking Law to show him how to stitch in the Whitebeard symbol to his outfits, just not onto the seat of his pants. A project for downtime.

The trickiest aspect for the Strawhats was how to change out the laces of Marco and Law's sneakers without either noticing. They'd had to tip the ends of the replacements in seastone so neither devil-fruit user could touch them, but all creatures of stealth were also users.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"Shouldn't the footbath be for the finish, yoi?" Marco pulled at the number of his bib, readjusted his t-shirt.

Marco, Law and the others sat at the outdoor stations, the sulphur-infused water softening their feet. Early, early — birds-scratching-the-night-out-of-their-feathers — morning. Footbath, breakfast, run. Whatever. They went with the flow when requests were innocuous. Fighting Strawhat whims was like fighting, well, straw. Better to save stamina for when it was needed.

"As good before as after," Robin said, dispensing towels. The Stawhats, Law and Marco, took them with thanks.

Law wasn't so sure. For one, he had to look down at his thighs and shins — pasty when compared to the parts of his body that saw regular daylight. And, as relaxing as it was, his energy sank a little with every absorption of water into his pores, the soles of his feet.

Nami blasted a whistle loud enough to drop birdsong from the sky and to scare the second life out of more than a few pirates. Quick-smart, five reprobates extracted their tootsies from the water, towelled them dry, and Robin's devil-fruit hands then massaged the feet of all participants. The hands returned socks and shoes, loosely tying laces on Law and Marco's runners.

Outside the Baratie the Strawhats, the Whiteboard and Heart, soaked up the sun at separate tables.

"Seems a bit ominous," Law said. "Our feet bathed, and now we're sitting down for a meal."

Marco nodded. Sometimes he thought Law had taken in more of the Flevance nun's teachings than he realised, though there'd be no breaking of the bread.

Sunday workers swept away the refuse of the night before. Participants from other crews limbered up while Law and Marco ate onigiri on pain of death.

Sanji served grilled fish and miso too. Law mumbled thanks. The scars from when he'd spat the umeboshi onigiri into his hand years ago on the Sunny still flared up at times. Geez, it wasn't like he was alone in not liking pickled plum.

The cook's ferocity at the time had backed him up against the galley wall, Law summoning a room and Kikoku to hand. He'd never learnt if the attack was for wasting food or poor manners. Robin said it was the latter.

Speaking of which. Chopper was on Mission Cute. Timing was essential. Marco was made of sterner stuff, and less likely to melt at the reindeer's batted eyelashes, so Chopper — trotting over to the two men — made sure he sat firmly between them, drawing Marco into any conversation.

He talked Law into demonstrating, with plastic chopsticks and a teaspoon, the best way to insert a stent, and deluged Marco with wonder at the mad skills of his partner. Law, caught up in his explanation and —it had to be said — Chopper's fluffiness, hardly noticed the flattery, but Marco enjoyed Law getting due recognition. It didn't always happen. He stayed, listened in.

A pair of hands, clad in gloves protecting skin from seastone (Franky's design), finger-tipped under the table.

Marco and Law's shoelaces were loose and sloppy from the way Robin's devil-fruit appendages had tied them after the foot spa. Sanji had rushed the couple to breakfast, not giving them a chance to tighten them.

Robin sat with Nami, her back to Law and Marco, her arms an X over her chest. Franky's gloves not only allowed her devil-fruit hands to carry the laces, but also meant she didn't feel cigarette butts, bumps of gravel, slips of dirt, or the sticky drinks spilled onto the bitumen under the table. Ick.

Tugging Law's laces through the eyelets, and then Marco's, Robin's fingers paused mid-pull, _and_ she caught her breath at Nami's table. Law slapped his thigh, his leg jerking.

"Too early for mosquitoes."

"Never too early on the island."

"And then what happens to the patient, Law?"

Chopper yabbered on, heart eyes aflutter, Law's soft spot for fluffy things well known. Marco watched Law. Robin slipped out the laces.

She threaded the seastone-dipped, seastone-tipped cords through the metal rings of one shoe of either man. Stage one. _Success_. She then tied these cords to each other and looped them around the Heart and Whitebeard pirates' adjacent chair legs, finishing with a constrictor knot.

Both men were observant at the best of times, but not when love-bombed by a tiny reindeer. Due to his height, and angle at the table, Chopper clearly saw the progress below. Thumbs up. Yes! Robin recalled the hands.

.

"Huh." Marco paled.

Law looked up, still holding a chopstick and spoon, then did the same. "Not feeling too good." He lowered the implements to the table, and rested his head on his arm. Chopper jumped on the table, a hoof to Law's forehead.

"You're burning up."

He crossed to the commander, and urged Marco to tip his head.

"You too. No running."

Law tried to sit up. As he had so many times before, he wondered how Chopper discerned anything through the hoof. He pushed a flattened nail into his own skin and determined that he felt the flesh as well as the flesh feeling it, so maybe hooves worked the same way. Or was it just pressure?

He wanted to run. They'd trained hard, as in got up before eight a.m. at least three days of a week, and hadn't used their devil fruits to zoom them from their beach bar to their house on the top of the hill. That slope was a bitch to climb. He curved his hand. Nothing, No blue dome. No Kikoku.

"Weird." He pushed the chair back, tried standing, but his leg, his foot was stuck, and Marco jostled with Law's movements. Like his nail against his skin, Chopper's hoof to his forehead, he felt Marco's calf against his own. Law's energy was incredibly low. Damn that footbath.

.

"The fuck?"

Marco looked down, below the table. He had mirrored Law — he couldn't even summon a flicker. What was the obstruction?

Seastone laces glittered. Law liked shiny things. Fluffy things. His idea of glamming up the race?

"Fuck are they?" the doctor asked to his right, his shadow clouding Marco's view.

Not Law then. They were tied to the chairs? And each other?

Law bent over to untie or slice them, but he didn't have the strength to even fetch Kikoku, let alone wield her. and, man, nothing felled him like seastone. And from this angle, not being able to properly move from the chair? It was more than difficult. He flopped back with frustration, hints of that damn heart seat pushed to the back of his mind.

"Kairoseki."

Chopper couldn't touch it and there wasn't a Strawhat in sight.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Nami had 300,000 beri riding on Usopp with outside odds fitting for the long-nosed sniper. Sure, he was fast and flighty and energetic, and stood a good chance in the race, but you couldn't trust devil-fruit users to _not_ use their powers. Particularly those two. If they lost interest, they didn't give a fig about rules and regulations. They were nihilistic enough for that to happen.

But having them _in_ the race increased the odds of them winning of course, and made any potential payout on a long shot all the more attractive. Having them _actually_ win would mean Nami taking a huge loss.

Luffy's impatience would disqualify him, naturally — doing something predictably reckless like gripping the barrier near the finish and letting his rubber abilities ricochet him over the line.

Nami needn't worry about Zoro completing the race until ten that night, if at all. His sense of direction was that bad. Sanji had to work. Robin and she were sitting this one out and, lately, wherever Robin was Franky was too. Like now. Taking up all the space at their table, he stroked the gloves he'd made, knowing they'd recently warmed the archaeologist's hands.

There was an age limit. Brook was _way_ over, though he argued that being immortal was the same as eternally young. Nami had laid out distractions for the Heart pirates. Female minks, bars, hookers, shimmering things. They weren't fruit users, so Usopp probably could beat them fair and square. But she'd heard that once bears got their speed up you didn't want to step in their way. Maybe Mink bears were the same. Why take the risk?

The Strawhats were on board with Nami's scheme because if Usopp won, she promised to annul their debts. Zoro and Luffy had some trouble with numbers, so they owed _a lot_. Luffy was so eager to bring that amount down that he promised her he'd get banned, which meant he probably wouldn't.

Law and Marco were generally too clever to owe Nami anything, a bit like Robin. Alternative measures, alternative means, were forged to bind them together and keep them that way.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

A cackle cut across the plaza. Waving the trophy, Usopp the Great Usurper returned, triumphant, to the Baratie, Nami a few steps behind, flicking through a huge pile of beri.

It was kind of strange to see Marco and Law in shorts, Law's legs sure were pale, and it was even stranger to see the two sprawled over the table, asleep. Their upper halves, anyway. Their runner bibs still in place. They remained seated, uncomfortably close.

Sanji bitched they'd scared all the customers away. Maybe because he hadn't had the time nor inclination to untie them. Yeah, _yeah_. Nami had a little bit of sugar on everyone. What of it? How could he refuse the entreaties of a lady?

Usopp ducked under the table. He'd won fair and square. They shouldn't even _let_ fruit users into the race, or Zoro, or Sanji. Marco and Law were known to have a sense of humour on occasion . . . weren't they?

He loosened the knots, not an easy task _,_ _Robin!_ and extracted the offending seastone laces. He resurfaced and handed them to Nami. In fact, the shoelace that she had one side of and Usopp the other was probably the only thing that prevented Kikoku from quartering the two. Even in the safety of Law's Room, that blade that close to Usopp's vital parts was enough to make him almost drop the trophy in a way most unfitting for a god.

Then they were gone and Zoro kicked back in Law's chair, a smug grin on his face. He _knew_ he'd find his way back to the Baratie. That course really should be better marked. Though —he leant under the table and lifted a sneaker —wasn't that Marco's? No laces. He shrugged, dropped it, and nestled back into his seat, arms behind his head, gesturing to Curly Brow to bring him a drink.

Some random was sitting opposite him. Probably some friend he'd made during the race. He was still wearing a number. "Why the worried face, pal?"

The stranger started to answer, but suddenly lifted his arms with distaste from the sticky tabletop, realising his elbows were dipped in pools of moisture. Drool?

"Oi, Cook!"

The hygiene and service at this restaurant had really gone to the dogs.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Law wasn't foolish enough to lift more than a few beri from Nami's pile, replacing the notes with serviettes. He'd end up paying for this act of reparation at some stage, but she owed them both. He looked down at Marco's unshod foot. Law's Cinderella. Or maybe Zoro's, or the stray runner he'd replaced them with at the table.

Not only had Nami gypped them out of the chance of winning the race — not that they really gave a flying fuck — but every establishment refused Marco entry. Shoeless was a no go, one foot having a shoe, and the other not. So a celebratory drink over a successful escape was also struck off the agenda. Law wanted to get out of these ridiculous shorts, anyway.

Mercury, their dog, only cared that they'd come home. Law squatted to pat her and Marco enjoyed the view of those stencilled Jolly Rogers. Marco's one shoe and Law's two, were left at the door, tongues lolling — what did Robin do with the damned laces? It had to be Robin. Chopper betrayed him? Law shook the thought away. They wanted to stretch, walk, run now, after having been trapped at that table for half the day, but Marco's exercise wardrobe was not complete.

"I'll change," Law said in the kitchen. Marco's face fell. Law counted out the beri to the counter top. "Then let's hit the shops."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Although the Greeks invented marathons, the Romans invented the first running shoe, and it looked a whole lot like a gladiator sandal, even if the ties didn't cross quite so far up the leg. Of course Brook and the Phoenix held similar thoughts on eternal youth, and Law had his own take on the concept, but gladiator sandals with a nice support arch for a mythical zoan hitting the high numbers was the shoe of choice. Shoes. Paid for by Nami's greed, and the sweat of Usopp's brow. Then sprinkled through with glitter to appease Law's love for all things soft and shiny.

* * *

 **AN** : **Thank you** for reading! This was an extension from the mini-fic in my drabble collection _Nuts in a Nutshell_ (AO3), inspired by the reddit prompt: For some odd reason Character A and Character B are bound together by invisible bonds. (200 Words) Bonus: Someone else finds out (+200 Words). And one of your characters has something incredibly important to do (+400 words). It's a little dry, but I don't mind it. Hope you like it.

It's a one shot now, so well over that limit. This is set post-canon. Luffy is the pirate king. Law and Marco enjoy an easygoing island lifestyle. All the crews live within a few islands of one another.


End file.
